The Boys With Iron Hearts
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: Epilogue sequel to the 1990 LOTF-film prologue fanfiction "Davidson". Jack, Ralph and the others have returned to the Davidson Military School. Jack is determined to keep the secret hidden, and most of the others are allied with him out of guilt. But Ralph knows what happened on the island can't stay there forever.
1. Chapter 1- Old Familiar Things

**Chapter I- Old Familiar Things**

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**A/N: An epilogue follow-up to my 1990 LOTF-film fanfiction "Davidson", "The Boys With Iron Hearts" is my take of the aftermath of the island's events. Jack is a much more ambiguous character here; he has blood on his hands now, even if indirectly, and that changes him. Yet he has doubts of his own, too; it would be too simple to say Ralph is in full possession of a conscience and Jack has none at all.**

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Cadet First Lieutenant Jack Merridew tried not to smirk too much as he stepped out into the hallway, closing the door to Major Winters' office behind him. The Major was the Davidson Military School's head psychologist, and even in Jack's opinion a very smart man. But the smug look on Jack's face had nothing to do with Winters' ability as a mental health expert. Instead, it had a lot more to do with how good Jack knew he was getting to be at sending up all the right signals. Painting the right picture. Being good, sharp-minded, adventurous Jack, who in no way could have possibly engineered the murder of two fellow cadets on an otherwise empty island, plus attempted- even ordered- the death of a third. No. That wasn't Jack Merridew. Jack Merridew was a good cadet.

Striding smartly down the hall, Jack executed a perfect left-face and stopped at the door. Placing his garrison cover on his head- the blue-and-black Class B's were the most common daily uniform at Davidson- Jack couldn't help but smile as the gleam of those two silver dots caught his eye. Even after all that had happened, after everyone nearly finding out what Jack had done, what he almost did… he still was head of the Davidson choir. And with all the rumours floating around among the 200-plus boys of the Corps, Jack had one change he definitely counted in his favour- he was now one of the most feared boys in the school. New cadets coming to Davidson now heard of Jack Merridew within their first week; usually they saw him, one way or another, their first or second day. New boys wilted when they saw him; once, Jack had taken a new kid's trunk, talked with his parents just as nice as you please… then, just as soon as they were in the car and down the drive, back out Davidson's gates, he'd thrown the trunk from the highest window in Ingleston Barracks and dared the boy to tell anyone about it. "Welcome to Davidson!" Jack had crowed, reveling in his newfound power. Naturally the kid had complained to everyone he thought could help. And naturally, the ones who wanted to couldn't prove it, and the ones who didn't were never a problem in the first place.

It was an irony Jack had reflected on many times now; he'd been a rebel and a rule-breaker before he'd been sent to Davidson. Now, after figuring out how to twist the rules and bend the system the way he wanted, Jack was a professional con artist and a lot more. Military school promised discipline, and discipline it delivered.

That this discipline was applied in completely the wrong way never once bothered Jack. Whenever this occurred to him, he'd respond with a mental- or physical- shrug. So what? He was just using the tools they gave him. Besides, a sadist always could find a place in the barracks. His greatest crime, in the eyes of most officers, was doing too much. A pacifist- like Ralph, or Piggy- was actually disliked more, for not doing enough.

As Jack stepped outside the front doors of the administration building- he'd made sure to thank the secretary on his way out- Jack noticed someone else coming. Another cadet, and Jack's sharp eyes instantly discerned this other cadet's senior rank. Indignant anger pulsed in Jack's veins- he hated being outranked. Hated it completely, and blindly. Receiving salutes made him feel gratified, content that his status as one of Davidson's greatest was understood and recognized. Giving salutes did just the opposite.

As Jack started to raise his arm in salute, he and the other cadet drew closer, and recognition set in. Beneath his grey cap and silvery-blonde hair, Jack's face twisted into a smile. It was Ralph.

"Afternoon, Colonel", Jack said, rendering his salute with a kind of military bearing a Marine colonel would have approved of. His voice was likewise polite and, as always, completely professional.

Only the grimacing smile, that grim look of knowing triumph was still in his hands, betrayed what Jack was really thinking as he greeted Cadet Lieutenant Colonel Ralph Meyer. Battalion exec still, but for how much longer? Along with going to great, poetic lengths to prove his own innocence, Jack was also starting to sow the seeds of doubt in the minds of Davidson's administration. Poor Ralph, so traumatised, so disturbed… so unfit for command. And who better to replace him than the noble boy with the blonde hair, the singer whose cadences were adored by every parent and parade ground instructor?

Who better, indeed?

All this and more was communicated to Ralph in that one moment, that one instant where they locked eyes, traded salutes, and passed by one another. Ralph was deathly afraid of Jack, and Jack knew it and loved it… but he also hated Jack, too. Hated him for being so ready to throw civilization away; so ready to kill and pretend he'd never done it. Ralph knew what Jack was up to- he knew perfectly well. And Jack was sure that whatever he was coming up to Kovalchik Hall for today, odds were it had something to do with his latest efforts to unveil the truth at last.

Ralph's voice, hard and determined, called after him.

"Sooner or later they're gonna find out about you. Somebody's gonna know."

Jack stopped. For just an instant, his smile faltered. He'd heard this before- he'd heard it all before. But was this time somehow different? Ralph sounded so sure…

But when he turned around, Jack was all smugness and triumph again. He just smirked and tilted his head, the very picture of teenage arrogance. "Who's 'they'?" he echoed, mocking Ralph's words. "Colonel Anderson? Major Winters?"

Ralph's stare was frigid, and his words no warmer. "We both know what you did. They've found Piggy, and nobody's gonna be stupid enough to believe Simon stabbed himself with a spear… what was it… two dozen times?" Now Ralph was the one smiling. Taking a few steps towards Jack, who furiously made himself hold his ground, Ralph said quietly, "Or was it three, Jack? I just have _such_ a hard time remembering. And you know what? I've just got this big mouth and I love to hear it run."

"Go _fuck_ yourself, Ralph." Jack wasn't smiling anymore.

Ralph just grinned. "Oh, I enjoyed our time on the island too, Jack. I'll see you around."

With that, Ralph flashed Jack his best smirk- which turned out to be pretty damned good. Jack stood rooted to the spot, shaking with useless rage at something he could do nothing about.

For now.

Suddenly, jabbing a finger at Ralph as he reached for the door handle to go inside, Jack yelled, "I'm gonna find a way to get you this year, Meyer! That's a _promise_, stool pigeon!"

Ralph just grinned and walked inside. Jack stormed off in a rage, neither knowing nor caring if anyone else but Ralph had heard or seen him.


	2. Chapter 2- Meeting the Colonel

**Chapter II- Meeting the Colonel**

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At 1500 the next day, Jack was unexpectedly called out of JROTC class and up to Colonel Anderson's office. It was Friday- the Corps was out in full dress grays, their closed-neck collars and mirror-polished capshields always a hit with the civilians and parents. Jack had on his white Band cord, a full two rows of Davidson and JROTC ribbons, and his black dress shoes gleamed like diamonds in the sun. He looked like one of the Queen's Own grenadiers, but he felt like…

A kid in trouble?

No. Jack pushed that thought from his mind, forced himself to feel calm, be calm, as he reported in to the secretary and was soon ushered upstairs to the Colonel's office. He'd been up here before; he and the Colonel were well-acquainted. "Fixing lost boys" like Jack was a favourite hobby of Colonel Anderson's. He'd taken an interest in and a liking to Jack since his arrival, determined he could bring out the best in him once Jack saw the light.

Maybe that was this was about. As he raised his hand to knock, Jack smiled to himself. Cadet Colonel Merridew- it did have a nice ring to it.

Then the Colonel's voice, neither too harsh nor too soft, flavoured with that Mississippi drawl he was so famous for having, answered. "It opens!" Jack couldn't help but smile- it was a favourite joke of Colonel Anderson's.

Then he entered the twenty-foot hallway leading down to the Colonel's office, stepped across the threshold and into the room… then, abruptly, found his sense of calm come crashing down.

To his right, sitting in one chair, was Ralph. To his left, sitting in another, was Major Winters. Dead ahead of him was a third chair. Identical to the other two, yes, but right in the center of the room.

The center of the room.

A bolt of raw fear shot through Jack- he'd rolled a car once, been arrested at gunpoint by state police, and never had Jack known fear like this. The center of the room… that's where the Chair went.

_The_ Chair.

Jack quickly found himself grateful he was wearing white gloves- he could already feel his neck growing hot under the tight collar, and his fingers growing damp with sweat. As he heard himself report in to the Colonel, felt his right arm execute a salute, Jack forced himself to feel calm- at least to look it. Whatever this was, if he started panicking right away, he was dead. He'd be sunk.

And Ralph would win.

The Colonel looked at Jack for a few moments, visibly annoyed and trying- but not too hard- not to show it. Finally, he said, "Cadet Merridew, were you recently promoted past me?"

Startled at the question, said right away in a voice sounding as puzzled as he felt, "No, sir."

"Then _why_ are you chewing gum in _my_ office?"

Jack stopped. He'd entirely forgotten about that.

Recovering himself as gracefully as he could, Jack smiled in remorseful apology. "Sorry about that, sir, it'll never happen again." He briefly stood, took the offending piece of gum and tossed it in the trash can beside the Colonel's desk, then took his seat again. Somehow, he already felt better. If he'd just had the fortitude to walk into the office of the President of Davidson Military School with chewing gum in his mouth, how bad could things possibly be?

Colonel Anderson got right to business. "Cadet Merridew, did you kill anyone on that island?"

Holy _Jesus_!

Aware his reaction was being watched- surely that was the whole point of this- Jack fought down a blind rush of panic for the second time since he'd entered the room. He had to control himself. He was losing ground already, and if he fucked this up there was a lot more at stake than his rank.

With deliberate calm, Jack answered, "Sir, it's true two cadets died on that island. It's true one of them was in my choir. But if anyone-" Jack coldly cut his eyes at Ralph, whose face gave away nothing- "has been telling tales about me, I'll be happy to correct them."

"No one's accused you of anything, Mr. Merridew", Colonel Anderson said, his voice even. "We just have a lot of questions to answer, as a school. We sent you boys on a flight to Japan; you were there to show their Army how we, the best military academy in the Americas, do drill, ceremony, and choir performances."

This was known; the anticipated dual performance of choir and DNC was much looked forward to by citizens of both nations.

Anderson continued, looking visibly agitated- to say the least- over how badly the trip had gone.

"Did you manage to get to Japan? Of course not! Missing for an entire month out in the Pacific, your band instructor lost along with the pilots. And when those Marines picked you up, you boys looked like the dirtiest little savages I ever heard of." Anderson's voice dripped with contempt for the low standard the cadets' behavior had set. Jack felt annoyance at that- what the hell did Anderson know? He hadn't been there… ironically, had Jack not ordered the woods set ablaze to force Ralph from hiding, they might have indeed been there still.

Anderson went on, now getting to his least favourite part of the whole affair. "And when the Marines searched the island, we found two dead cadets." Now the Colonel just looked sad. He'd never liked men dying under his command, inevitable as it was in war. But this was peace, and casualties of this nature were completely unacceptable.

Jack did his best to soothe the Colonel's worries. "Sir, I know you've read my and Cadet Meyer's reports of what happened there."

The Colonel nodded. "There's some discrepancies between them", he said, understating the matter.

Jack nodded, not bothering to argue with that. "Well, sir, it goes without saying that Cadet Meyer and I are not friends."

"I don't seem to recall hearing of this same friction between you two before your little adventure on that island."

The blonde hesitated. He and Ralph had gotten along much better before, even if they weren't, in his mind, proper friends. How to explain that?

"Sir, I believe I commanded more respect from the cadets while we were there. Even Cadet Meyer doesn't dispute that I dove back underwater to grab cadets from the airliner before it sank."

Anderson nodded; this was true. It was one of the _only_ points of Jack's account of the story that Ralph didn't dispute, however.

Taking a breath, reminding himself that as long as he stayed calm, he could get out of anything that came his way, Jack went on, "Sir, I think the conflicts between myself and Cadet Meyer started over the greater respect I had, and the fact that he had higher rank." Not entirely a lie- Jack's decision to soon lead an open revolt against all manner of military rank on the island notwithstanding, Jack, as choir leader, was normally commander of most of the cadets on the flight anyway. He was also older than Ralph, more forceful in personality, and more athletic. He'd been able to bully his way into being completely in charge, and Ralph had hated it. The fact that Jack had chosen to do murderous work on the island with the power his position brought him… that fact needed to be buried. And buried deep.

Anderson nodded for Jack to continue. Doing so, Jack said carefully, "Sir, we had nothing but our full dress uniforms, and it was hot and unsanitary on the island. Changes had to be made; we needed to improvise." The Colonel, much as Jack predicted, seemed to like hearing that; improvise, adapt, and overcome was one of his favourite phrases.

"And what can you say to account for the way your boys, if you ended up being so much in charge of them, were dressed and acting when the Marine captain found you? He said Cadet Meyer was being chased, and looked scared out of his mind!"

Jack suppressed a smirk as he saw Ralph wince at the memory. He didn't do it well enough, apparently, because the Colonel snapped, "Just what kind of grab-ass unit did you run out there, Lieutenant?", putting special emphasis on Jack's rank. "I've heard some pretty disturbing things of what went on out there on that island. And I've been hearing them from a cadet whose word I trust, and whose opinion I respect."

The tall, lanky blonde cadet had to fight down a surge of anger- nobody talked to him like that! But this wasn't the time. It just wasn't the place. He was before the Man right now, and even he, Jack Merridew, could do nothing about the situation he faced. Not yet.

Jack chose his next words carefully. "Sir, may I speak freely?"

Anderson nodded impatiently. "What do you have to say, Mr. Merridew?"

Speaking with deliberate care, Jack went on, "Sir, with all due respect, I don't know what you've heard…" -he resisted the urge to give Ralph yet another cold look- "… or from who. But I give you my word, sir. I didn't kill anyone on that island. What happened to those two cadets was an accident." Briefly, Jack cast his eyes downward, as if to hide a feeling of shame, or perhaps tears of remorse. "I'm just glad we didn't lose anyone else."

The Colonel seemed to be buying it- at least, Jack had thrown enough doubt in his mind that his ass was off the frying pan for today. He went on, "Your points are well-made, Mr. Merridew. But we still have a lot of questions to answer; as I said, this is not about you exclusively, but about every cadet on that plane. And about this school as a whole. I don't want to see Davidson be unable to find funding from the Board for such trips in the future, for fear of a repeat incident. To settle their doubts we have to deal with our own. The deaths of those two cadets could- I say could- have been accidents." He shook his head, dismayed at the very thought. "But even so, Mr. Merridew, you must surely agree that those deaths, and the circumstances in which you were found in connection to Cadet Meyer, would be highly unusual even as accidents."

Jack knew it was pointless to try to argue with the Colonel on certain points, especially where he already knew he was treading on some thin ice on the first place. And besides; hiding a few potholes of truth was a hell of a lot easier than trying to repave a highway.

"They were accidents, sir."

"Tell me your summary, then."

Taking a breath, Jack went on, "A boulder broke loose and fell on Cadet Johnson…"

Ralph winced again. Even listening to this was painful. Not because of Jack's lies- he'd expected those, and it did distress him to find Jack was actually getting very good at doing it. No, it was the memories. The horrible, horrible memories. Piggy trying in vain to restore order, to call back the power of the Conch… and Ralph screaming out a warning, never seeing the boulder Roger shoved until it was too late.

"What was your group doing standing up there next to it?" Anderson asked pointedly. Hot question- Jack knew right away this was one answer everyone in the room was waiting to hear.

"We were searching for bird's eggs. Some seagulls will use rocky cliffs and sections of rock for nests. I noticed the boulder starting to roll off the side; but none of us could stop it."

Anderson noted this; again, a point Ralph did not entirely dispute- not about whether Jack and his boys had been there. But what they were doing, and what was said? That these two cadets differed on.

Choosing to move on to the next dead soldier in line, Anderson asked, "And what about Simon Kemper, Mr. Merridew?"

Jack grimaced- that really had been an accident. Roger and Jack had agreed, talking alone late one night, that Piggy had to go. He was Ralph's little accomplice, the fat kid who just wouldn't fucking _die_. Even now Jack felt no real regret over the death of Piggy- he hadn't done it, anyway. A boulder could fall on anybody; Roger had just leaned on it a little too hard.

But Simon? Jack had not meant for him to go. Simon was a thinker- the tribe Jack was building then had needed a philosopher of its own. But they'd gotten worked up into that battle fever, and Simon had come running down that beach, waving his arms and yelling in the dark…

The grimace Jack made in his mind must also have shown on his face, because Major Winters stepped in briefly, the first time he'd spoken since Jack entered the office. "I believe we call this sort of thing 'friendly fire', sir."

Anderson looked a little ill at the idea, but reluctantly nodded in agreement. He'd seen the pained look on Jack's face, too. "Friendly, indeed."

Pushing on, Jack said, "We were going to hunt for the Beast on the island- we'd captured one pig and killed it, and the meat kept the boys fed for a while. I wanted to get them pumped up. Then we saw something coming down the beach at us, yelling and making all kinds of noise…" Jack shook his head. "I guess we got overexcited, sir. Thought we were under attack or something."

"And what about Cadet Meyer, Mr. Merridew? What about his story that you'd set the woods on fire to flush him out, and were planning on using those spears the Marines found you and your boys with to kill him?"

Jack froze. This one was not gonna be easy. Jack had been so caught up in the battle rage, so furiously determined to catch Ralph and gut him, skin him, kill him… nothing else had even crossed his mind. But he was back in civilization now, so something had to be said to account for that, too.

"We were meaning to set one tree on fire as a signal, sir. We didn't know how far the fire would spread. We had the spears with us to catch the pigs."

"And what about your chasing Cadet Meyer?"

"He was hiding from us. I don't know why. Once I ended up in charge, after we had our disagreements, maybe he felt like he wanted to be alone. We went back in the woods to get him out; he wouldn't go with us, so we had to chase him."

Finally, the Colonel sighed, leaning back in his chair. This was just too much. He was old now, and the very thought that murder could have been done on that island was just too much. These were his boys, Davidson boys. Nice American kids didn't act like this. Most of the younger boys hadn't been questioned too much, and often they just pointed back to Ralph or Jack anyway. What had happened on that island? Why were two of the school's most promising cadets, who anyone would recall had been such amiable companions before, suddenly such bitter enemies? Maybe Jack was right; maybe Ralph was right. Colonel Anderson, for his part, suspected the truth was somewhere in between. It was just a matter of finding it.

Looking up at Jack again, Anderson said, "Thank you for sharing this with us, Mr. Merridew. It takes courage to be so straightforward, man-to-man."

Jack smiled a little- not too much- stood, saluted, and headed out the door. A few minutes later, after a set of questions much the same as those posed to Jack, Ralph left too. At last it was just Winters and Anderson in the office. The Colonel sighed again- this was proving a lot tougher than he'd expected.

"What do you think it is, Bill? What's going on here?" Anderson looked to Major Winters with those two questions.

Winters shook his head. He'd been a psychologist in the Army for twenty years, and done much the same work at Davidson for another ten. But only once or twice in all of those years had he come across a youth as devoted and courageous as Ralph, or as sharp-witted and daring as Jack. The two were both gems to behold. Ralph, a Cadet Lieutenant Colonel in his third year at Davidson, and Jack, First Lieutenant in his first- and second- one of the school's best singers and a highly charismatic leader within the Corps. But to see them pitted against each other like this…

"I just don't know, sir. This is a first, even for me. Those two must have had some real big disagreements for their stories to differ like this."

"We're going to have to question the others some more. Talk with the next oldest from Ralph and Jack down. Don't let 'em think we're doing some investigation, though; they might decide to clam up or somebody like Merridew could make 'em do it."

"You think he'll try to interfere with the questioning, John?"

Anderson shook his head in frustration. Jack Merridew was strange. He could be so bright-eyed and charming, yet when you looked him dead in the eyes, if you ever saw him angry… a cold, dark thing seemed to live somewhere in him. It wasn't a cheery thing to see.

"I think he'll do what he thinks is in his best interests. You've read his file; he stole that car purely because he needed a quick getaway. Never cared once that it was illegal, never even thought about it. He did it because he felt he had to."

Colonel Anderson looked pointedly at Major Winters. "Does this boy _have_ a conscience, Bill? I mean, sometimes the way you make it sound, I wonder."

But Winters shook his head. "No… I think he'd be very different if he was literally- and I mean_ literally_- without a conscience. I think Jack's just… _very_ good at suppressing his sense of right and wrong, especially if he senses there's a need to do it."

Anderson grunted. "Sure seems like he's doing that now."

Winters looked as puzzled- and as thoughtful- as Anderson felt. "So you think he's definitely hiding something, then?"

Anderson laughed. "_You're _the mental expert here, Bill. You tell me."

The head psychologist of Davidson Military School thought for a few moments, considering what he'd seen and heard of these two boys before their month on the island, and what he'd seen and heard of them after. Ralph looked scared to death some days, jumping at shadows. In his talks with Winters, he was always wringing his hands, bitter and remorseful over the events on the island- like any good, aspiring leader, he felt the whole thing was his failure, his fault. Jack, good or bad, was different.

He had been rather dazed and startled- to say the least- at the sudden return to cadet life from the jungle. Like all the others, he was given a week's reprieve before returning to regular cadet life and classes. But when he'd talked with Winters, Jack appeared less visibly traumatised by the event. It was almost as if the hellish experiences on the island had just toughened him, made him stronger. But meaner, too- there was no doubt about that. Rumours and accusations of Jack's bullying new or smaller cadets were only outnumbered by reports of his brilliance in any class where he chose to apply himself, and his fearlessness in paintball battles in JROTC. He had incredibly fast reflexes; a retired Air Force colonel sitting on Davidson's Board of Trustees had remarked that Jack had fighter pilot potential. More puzzling still was the account from his parents of Jack's intense love for his younger brother. When Jack's parents had come to pick him up after his first year at Davidson- surprising everyone, Jack went home a Cadet Sergeant- they had brought three-year-old Michael Merridew with them. Observing from a distance, Winters and Anderson had both seen Jack crying for joy, picking up his brother, and hugging him like he hadn't seen him for years.

Who _was_ Jack Merridew, really?

Finally, after a full minute of thoughtful silence, Major William Winters answered, "Jack Merridew is one of the most interesting young men I've ever dealt with. What goes on in his head is a great mystery to me."

Catching the look of astonishment on Anderson's face, Winters nodded. "I don't say that often, John. This boy is smart. Real smart. He's got a temper, and when he forgets where he is he has this tendency to blurt out things he doesn't really want people to know or hear. But when he's calm, when he controls himself… John, I bet that boy could lie himself into believing the Earth was a cube."

Anderson sat in silence for half a minute before he spoke. He trusted Winters, and found no reason to disagree with his words. Merridew probably was hiding something, but maybe Meyer was too.

What?

And_ why_?


	3. Chapter 3- The Foxhounds

**Chapter III- The Foxhounds**

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That same evening, after the weekly parade was done and the cadets headed off to chow, a note was circulated between the five companies. It started in Band, and finished out on Battalion Staff. Each place it went, the note was the same, handed only to a very specific few in each unit: "Remember the island. The house is dark at ten."

For those not in the know, the note would have meant nothing even if they'd seen it. For those aware of the note's significance, it was a summons, an order to gather at a specific time and place.

There was an abandoned house at the edge of the woods, about a two-mile hike through the forst behind the Davidson Military School. Around 2300, one by one, a handful of cadets slipped out of their beds, out of their barracks, into the woods and off to the old Colonial-style, two-story house. It had stood empty for years, and was used as a local storage dump by the nearby residents. Nobody quite knew what to do with it, or even who it really belonged to. So the Foxhounds Club, a secret band of cadets started sometime in the 1950's, had taken to meeting there. A member of the Foxhounds was chosen carefully by one already a member, and once in, he held power in the Corps regardless of his rank. Not many of those summoned that Friday night were Foxhounds- but at least one was, and that was enough. And regardless, every boy who was shown the note about the island had to go. That was a secret all of them shared.

Jack was waiting upstairs in the master bedroom, starting a small fire in the large brick fireplace, when Roger showed up. A Cadet Captain when they'd gotten to the island, Roger had for whatever reason quickly fallen in line with Jack. An able officer on battalion staff, Roger preferred to write, think and act rather than talk. And for some reason, he adored Jack. He was willing to do anything Jack asked, follow him to the ends of the Earth if necessity called on him. It was one reason they got along so well. Another was that on the island, Roger had fast become Jack's second, and easily the most ruthless killer of the bunch. They were forever bonded by their experiences on the island; Jack knew he never could have taken charge so completely without Roger backing him every step of the way.

"You think the others will come?" asked Roger, sitting down next to Jack. The two were dressed in their BDU camouflage fatigues, black boots scuffed only slightly by the march through the woods. "I know they will," Jack said simply as he stirred the logs with a poker. "They have to."

"Yeah, you're right." Roger shrugged. "We'll see them all sooner or later."

Jack smirked. "I'm always right."

"You _think_ you're always right."

Jack laughed a little, making sure to keep his voice low; a glance showed the heavy curtains were indeed blocking the fire's light from the street. "That's deep, Roger."

"You know when Jack's not right? When he loses that temper of his." Andy, the dark boy, stood in the doorway, his Cadet Master Sergeant's insignia sewn on his collar in black.

Jack motioned him over. "Sit down, asshole. We got more to do tonight than listen to your bullshit."

"Oh, I forgot- _you_ two gotta make out and blow each other later." Roger blushed furiously; Jack punched Andy hard, an act that made little difference given how strong Andy was. "Shut up!" Jack hissed.

"Oh, you mean it's _true_?"

Jack brandished the poker. "I told you, _shut up_!"

Andy shrugged, finally relenting. "I'm just saying you two shower at the same time a little much. It gives guys ideas."

Jack sighed in irritation. This kind of thing could make Roger a real pain in the ass sometimes. "You just can it, okay? We got serious business to deal with tonight."

Andy shrugged again. "Jack, you know I wouldn't care if you were bi, right? I mean, who gives a shit? I fucked a bi girl back home and she set me up with one of her friends. Bi people are awesome."

Just as Jack was about to lose it, another set of boots thumped up the stairs. Two, actually- into the room strode Sam and Eric, looking none too pleased about having had to make that two-mile hike in the dark. They each sat near the aging bed, waiting to hear what was up.

Eventually, after about twenty minutes, enough of the others arrived that Jack decided to begin. Standing up and addressing the others, all circled around him, Jack said, "Ralph's talking about the island."

Whispers ran around the room; fearful glances were exchanged more than a few times. This wasn't good. The night after they'd arrived back at Davidson, Jack had personally gone into the room of every Band Company cadet who'd been on the island and sworn to do things so bad their ancestors would feel the pain if they talked. Between wanting to help Ralph and being punished by Jack for doing so, most all the boys had chosen their fear of Jack as the more important. Besides- they all felt some kind of guilt for what had happened on the island, and Jack was offering them a chance to leave everything behind, have it all forgotten. Was that so bad?

"What I'm saying is, he's running his mouth! We're all gonna get questioned now; I know the Colonel's gonna have Winters do it. We're all gonna get asked. Did we kill anybody? What happened to Piggy, what happened to Simon?"

"No… accident, accidents…" the boys all chorused loosely.

Jack nodded. "Good. That better fucking be _all_ I hear! The heat's most on _me_ now, so don't think the old LT's not in the boat with you guys." Jack's voice briefly turned softer; out of everyone he knew at Davison, these boys, many part of the Foxhound brotherhood, were easily his best friends. He owed them a little more than threats. But even so, Jack's voice turned hard again as he spoke his next words. "But that means I'm also the most likely to get hurt by this." Looking around, Jack said quietly, "And remember what I told each of you. If I go, somebody is fucking going with me."

Roger spoke up from the back. "What do you want us to do, boss?"

Boss. Jack smiled; Roger had always known how to approach him right.

"Just tell Winters what he wants to hear; same for anyone else that asks you questions. And if I send you another note with the words "Red-47" on it, I better have Ralph's sorry ass trussed up like a Christmas turkey and in this house by midnight that night!"

Roger nodded, as did Andy. They understood. It would be taken care of.

Continuing on, Jack said to the other boys, especially the younger ones, "Just keep quiet. You don't know anything, and we never killed anybody. You hear me? No one died except two accidents. And when we were chasing Ralph, we were just playing a game."

The boys were dismissed soon afterwards, departing in the same staggered, erratic yet somehow steady manner in which they came. Only Roger and Andy stayed behind, and after a little more talking strategy with the other two, Andy headed for the barracks as well. Finally, Jack put the fire out and headed downstairs, then outside. Closing the door carefully behind them- nobody seemed to notice it no longer had a working lock- Jack stepped outside, breathing in the not-too-warm, not-too-cold September air. It was nice out; a perfect night for a walk.

Island weather.

Roger stepped out of the house and closed the door again, setting his camouflage cap back on his head. Jack glanced at him and smiled that flashy, charming smile of his. It practically made girls fall into his arms. "Looking good there, Captain," he said, and he meant it. He was glad his friend had seen such promotion, and held no envy over it at all. Roger was a good friend; between them, rank was never important, never an issue.

Roger blushed a little. "God, Jack… if Andy doesn't shut his mouth sometime…"

Jack flipped something out of his pocket- it was a switchblade knife. How he'd gotten one into Davidson and never been caught with it was a mystery to everyone who knew. But enough cadets knew Jack had it- and could do vicious work with a dull kitchen knife at need- that few had much desire to cross him. Far better to just stay out of his way and be left alone.

"If anyone talks, I'll give them this." Jack said, his smile turning cold.

Roger shrugged, uncomfortable still. "I know that."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Well, isn't this weird or something? I mean, we both have girlfriends…"

Jack shrugged. They kept the Davidson cadets locked up pretty well most of the time; sure, the Foxhounds and some guests could escape to the house from time to time, but that was hardly a party with lots of girls. Jack never saw these things one way or the other. He just knew that ever since he'd had his first taste of It, he'd been a boy who couldn't go more than two weeks without… something. Anything. A few 'select' magazines stashed inside his mattress weren't always enough. It had nothing to do with gay, or straight, or any of that crap. Not in Jack's mind. This was boarding school, and on top of that, military boarding school. There just wasn't a lot of personal time or freedom. The stereotype that all boys turned gay there somehow was ridiculous; Jack loathed civilians for the very idea. But cadet life was very different from life at home, especially for someone like Jack. It was about… release. So full of energy and life, Jack just had to do _something_, all the time. Even sleeping he was active, fighting in battles and charging beachheads in his dreams.

It was about relaxing a little, blowing off some steam. Well, and spending time with a good, close friend. Was that so wrong? In Jack's mind it was just fine. And anyone who would comment unfairly had never been there; else they'd not be so quick to judge.

Jack finally answered his friend. "Roger, you know… I'm not that worried about Ralph. We'll deal with him; _I_ can shut him up. Andy was just making a joke. The hell does _he_ know anyway?"

Roger sighed, staring off into the woods. "I'd follow you anywhere, Jack. You know that."

And the two boys looked at each other in the dark.

Back at school that night, Jack lay on top of his bed, shirtless as he always liked to do. His roommate was asleep; tiptoeing back onto the floor, Jack had never once been seen making his way to his room. Lying on his back, his hands folded behind his head, Jack thought about the challenges ahead of him at Davidson. There was more rank to chase after, more promotions he had not yet achieved. And there was Ralph to deal with. Oh, yes. Loyal, honorable Ralph. He was not going to be easily silenced. But if Jack was going to go on with his life, if he was going to hide all that had occurred on the island and leave it behind, he couldn't let anyone stop him. This was about Jack, about doing what Jack Merridew needed done. It wasn't about good or evil, right or wrong. It was about saving one's own ass because sometimes that was just what needed to be happen.

Besides, Jack thought as he turned over and went to sleep, he'd never really liked Ralph anyway.


	4. Chapter 4- Terms

**Chapter IV- Terms**

* * *

Just two weeks later, the heat was on for real. Each of the boys had taken a thorough grilling, but either out of loyalty to or fear of Jack, they all kept silent. Many, too young to fully understand all that had happened, were all too willing to fall in line. The bad time had passed now, banished to their occasional nightmares. The young ones wanted no more to do with it than that.

It was when the police stopped by that Jack really started to get worried, though of course he never let his fear show. If the police were here, even if just to visit with a few staff, that meant someone was thinking- at least thinking- murder. And that just wasn't good; not at all.

Jack was sitting in the Cadet Officer's Club, halfway through writing "RED-47" on a scrap of notebook paper, when he noticed a shadow fall over him. Looking up, he found himself staring at Ralph. For a few moments, the two simply stared. Neither seemed too sure of what to say. Finally, Jack spoke. Keeping his voice neutral, he said, "Was there something specific you wanted?"

Ralph looked grim, but also determined. "I wanna talk. Make a deal."

Jack returned to writing on the paper. "Too late."

"It's a deal you'll want to hear."

The blonde rebel looked up and stared at Ralph, surprised and amused. Finally, he pocketed the scrap of paper. Ten seconds' time would be enough to finish it and get it to Roger if the need came. "All right," Jack said, motioning to the armchair across from him. "Talk."

Ralph just stood where he was. He seemed slightly dazed, as if he couldn't believe he was doing this. "I know where that club of yours meets."

Jack suddenly became intensely interested in polishing his capshield. "Never heard of it," Jack said dismissively. "Must be new on campus. Think they'll let me join?"

"Come on, Jack, cut the fuckin' crap!"

Jack stared.

"Point is, I _know_, okay? Let's not waste time here."

Jack returned to buffing his capshield, picking up the dress hat again. "So don't."

"I want a meeting out there; next Friday night. 2300. I wanna discuss terms."

"Of what, _Colonel_?" Jack asked, putting sarcastic emphasis on the title.

"What's going on. You know and I know something's gonna get found out, sooner or later. Longer this goes on the funnier it's gonna look. I meet you out there and we talk about it."

Jack shrugged. "I don't know, Ralph," he said enigmatically, "I don't know if you realise how many boys here have their precious little careers in danger because of you. It's got them _very_ scared."

"You get them there too, if you want."

Suddenly, Jack got an idea. "How about we duel? Hand-to-hand, swords- guns if we had 'em. Something like that. I win, you shut up and transfer to another school. You win," Jack shrugged, "I'll leave. Confess, whatever you want. But you know what? If you wanna talk, whatever we do, we'll talk first. Talk all you like."

Ralph stood silent for a few moments. Jack took something out of his pocket and placed it in Ralph's hand; a white piece of chalk. "Tell you, what, Colonel, since I've got a real busy day and all. If you wanna take my deal, put an X on my door before chow next Thursday. I'll make all the arrangements."

As Jack stood and started to walk out of the lounge, Ralph said, "I thought you said you didn't belong to any club."

Jack shrugged. "I don't."

Then Jack turned and walked out, leaving Ralph alone in the COC, with the single white piece of chalk still in his hand.

The weekend passed, uneventful as it was. Jack kept busy, but was remarkably unconcerned by the ongoing investigation of the events on the island. He was in a tight spot here, sure, but he'd been in tighter jams than this. He'd get out of it, one way or another. On Thursday, though, at 1745, Jack returned to his room on the third floor of Ingleston Hall, and as he started to punch in his key code, he smiled.

There was a small, white X on the door.


	5. Chapter 5- The House in the Woods

**Chapter V- The House in the Woods**

* * *

None of the younger boys were there that night. The only ones actually summoned that second Friday night, almost a month after the first, were Roger and Andy. The rest stayed at the school, unaware of what Jack had planned for the night. As Jack moved around in the house that night, there long before any of the others, he checked a false bottom in one of the chests in the attic. He'd found some tough rope and hidden it here, adding two rolls of shipping tape from town as well. But the thing Jack wanted to make sure he had tonight, the one thing he was really after, was hidden in a compact, rectangular, ornate wooden box. He'd found it here last year; it was the Foxhounds' most prized possession now. On rare occasion, when one or two of the boys had been really bored- or very badly in need of cash- they'd actually used it to rob a store or two. The lean, mean, masked teenagers had vanished as quick as they'd shown up; even now local police had never solved this handful of odd and- they thought- isolated crimes. Opening the box, Jack smiled as its contents gleamed in the moonlight shining through the attic window.

It was a .44 Shepard revolver with 6 live rounds.

As Jack waited in the dark, though, doubts began to surface in his mind. He closed the box again, putting it away; he was unsure, suddenly, if he really wanted to use it. On the island he'd been convinced, and _wanted_ to believe, that civilization was gone from his life forever. He was the lawmaker now, and murder was nothing to him. And why not? On the island, Jack had been able to essentially play God. The one thing that had ever been holding him back was the laws of man, of society- and those were all gone on the island. The only other safeguard on Jack's reckless fury was Michael, his beloved little brother. Certain he'd been presumed lost in the plane crash, convinced that his parents and- in time Michael, too- believed him dead, Jack felt so lost his hatred for the rules Ralph and Piggy were still trying to enforce was the only thing that seemed to give him direction again.

Then he'd had to start making up myths about the Beast. He'd never needed them while there was still a "civilized" society to rebel against on the island, but what happens to the revolution's leader when the revolution is over, and the people realise they don't need him anymore?

Then the fury had reached a fever pitch; Roger's cold-blooded killing of Piggy still awed Jack, as did his own ingenuity in setting the jungle ablaze to force Ralph out of hiding. But it puzzled him, even now, that he'd never actually killed anybody. He was supposed to be the worst of the worst, the most savage of all the little savages who'd emerged on that island in the blue waters of the Pacific.

And yet… Jack Merridew had never killed anyone himself. Why? Was he afraid? Not actually willing to do his own dirty work? No answer Jack could think of seemed to fit.

When the Marine reconnaissance helicopters had picked them up, Jack had blanked. He just stared at things for thirty minutes or even an hour at a time, able to respond to the sound of his name but little else. They'd all been lost on that island. Every one of them; Jack had been sure- he'd known- that every one of those boys was going to die on that nameless island. What point to any rules but the most basic? What need for the old restrictions of a society that no longer existed?

But once they'd been picked up, all that had faded into nothing. Jack had been wrong, and so had everybody who had believed him. The knowledge of that- that _he_, Jack Merridew, had been totally and completely _wrong_- still bothered him. As did a growing sense that time was running out. Too many people were asking too many questions. Jack was a fox, yes; fast and clever. But even a fox could be cornered and trapped. Even a fox made mistakes.

And that was how Jack felt now; he felt like he'd messed up real bad somewhere along the line, somewhere between the moment the plane went down up to now. Things were getting out of control. Jack had discovered a lot about how cold and ruthless he could be on the island, but he'd never been a murderer- even if he only ordered it- at home. And at home, he had Michael to look after; Michael, the one person who made him at all ashamed of the fearless rebel he was. Jack Merridew felt trapped by what had happened on the island. Part of him was screaming to get rid of Ralph, and do it tonight; not because he enjoyed the idea of murder, but because he had no other choice.

As Jack waited for the others to show up, as he heard the door at the back open as the first of the summoned cadets arrived, a thought occurred to Jack that was very unsettling.

What if Jack decided he really _did_ want to talk it out with Ralph tonight, and one of his Foxhound brethren didn't? What if Jack backed off of his original plan, loosely sketched out as it was… and somebody else wanted to go ahead with it anyway?

It was in that moment Jack realised that as good as he'd gotten at shielding his heart from the prying eyes of others, he really didn't know it all that well himself. Who _was_ he? Away from the island and with Michael to care about again, what would Jack decide really mattered to him?

The footsteps of an approaching cadet reached the top of the stairs to the master bedroom; Jack sighed and hid the wooden box, then began descending the attic stairs. It was time to make a decision; he had company in the house.


	6. Chapter 6- The Boy With Two Faces

**Chapter VI- The Boy With Two Faces**

* * *

Ralph thought about the choice he was making as he made his way through the woods, careful to make absolutely no more noise than necessary. He'd actually been thinking about it for a while now; pretty much since June when they'd gotten back. The dreams had started the first night back, and they'd just gone on since then, sometimes letting up but never going away. He kept going to sleep at night and seeing the faces of Simon and Piggy, Piggy and Simon. And Jack. Tall, lean, blonde-haired Jack Merridew, Band Company's best singer and Ralph's friend, getting meaner and more savage by the day. And worst of all was seeing Sam and Eric, Larry, Tony- seeing all of them, just falling in line and doing everything Jack said.

"We did everything just the way the grownups would've. Why didn't it work?" Piggy's words echoed in Ralph's mind. Why, indeed? Ralph had been asking for close to a year now, and no answer was forthcoming. He was tired of facing the nightmares, tired of asking questions he knew he'd never get answers to. Tired of looking at Jack, this friend who died in one nightmare and came back, looking the same but not the same at all, in another.

As the house came into view up the hill, Ralph stopped and gazed up at it briefly. "You're not gonna get away with this…" he said to the house; or rather, to the Jack he knew perfectly well was already inside. Those words, spoken to Jack on the island just after Roger's cold-blooded killing of Piggy, were as fitting a missive as Ralph could find. He expected Jack would cheat on their deal tonight somehow. He'd bring a weapon for himself for the duel, but 'forget' to bring one for Ralph; he'd find some old shotgun, hidden away in the house, and try to blow Ralph away with it. He'd do something.

Because that was just how Jack Merridew did things. He hated Ralph now, and when Jack hated somebody it didn't take much for him to want to kill them. And if he saw the person as a threat? If they made him feel afraid, endangered, as Ralph was making him feel now? The answer was already in Jack's mind. Kill and do it fast. Murder in the name of self-preservation was nothing to Jack.

Did this bother Ralph? Not as much as it should have. He wanted the nightmares to end. Any way things went down tonight, odds were Ralph would get that much at least.

But was there any chance he was wrong? Not about ending the nightmares, but about Jack. Ralph wondered, staring up at the house in the dark. What was Jack really after? During that meeting in the Colonel's office, Jack hadn't seemed murderous; just scared. He hadn't seemed a true psychopath, completely devoid of conscience and regret; he looked a lot more like a kid forced into throwing up an image he now needed people to believe. And he had Roger next to him, whose dark stare really did worry Ralph sometimes.

Ralph suddenly realised that Jack was probably far more trapped by what had happened on the island than Ralph was.

And while Jack gave off the air of someone not bothered in the least by the questions that were being put against him, Ralph still remembered the sudden widening of the eyes, the instant sheen of sweat, that had occurred when Colonel Anderson asked him, "Did you kill anyone on that island?" It had been a test question, nothing more. But Jack had all but literally loaded his pants. It might be difficult to reach that part of Jack tonight, perhaps even impossible. But suddenly Ralph was certain Jack was just as scared as he was.

There was a good, solid chance that no matter what happened in the house tonight, somebody would be facing real danger at a very young age. Ralph didn't care. He was scared, but he'd been scared before. He was ready for this.

Ralph was starting to head up the hill when a boy's voice spoke to him from the darkness.


	7. Chapter 7- Old Friends - New Enemies

**Chapter VII- Old Friends- New Enemies**

* * *

**A/N: I had actually intended for Chapter VI to be the end of the story, but thinking about it I realised it was a bit too ambiguous for a proper ending. So I wrote on, and this is the first of four added chapters. Ralph has an unexpected meeting before going into the house. Once there, Jack is ready and waiting, but even then things don't go as expected.**

* * *

"He's gonna kill you."

Ralph whipped around to his right, clamping a hand over his mouth to suppress a scream. His heart thudded in his chest, and when he saw who was there, he swayed on his feet, suddenly feeling dizzy.

It was Simon.

Simon was dressed just as he'd been when he died on the island, but his body was unmarked; no blood, no stab wounds. He was also standing on a swampy pond, which wouldn't have bothered Ralph had it been January.

But it was _September_, and the temperature was well _above_ freezing.

Simon just looked at Ralph, his face vaguely sad, but for the most part blank. Pointing up the hill, he said, "You know what's happening up there in that house right now? Roger's talking to Jack. He's telling Jack to kill you _tonight_."

Ralph just stared. He tried to find words, tried to say something, but he just wheezed. The air to speak wouldn't come. What was he supposed to do? Simon was dead. Everyone had seen it happen. There was no way he could be here…

But he was. And he knew about the meeting, which probably had a story all of its own.

Simon finally said, "Ralph, Piggy's not here because he's moved on. Passed over to the other side."

Ralph finally managed to whisper, "_What_? How do you- how-"

Simon cut him off. "Roger killed Piggy, Ralph. His spear was the one that finished me off. And Jack was in charge, letting him do it. You tried to stop it. What do _you_ have to feel so bad for?"

Now tears welled in Ralph's eyes at the memory; he'd bawled his eyes out on that beach, right in front of the Marine captain. He'd done his job; done everything he was supposed to do. None of it worked. Not one single bit of any of it had worked at all.

"It was my fault. All of it was my fault." Ralph finally managed to say, barely keeping himself together. This was all too much. He just couldn't take anymore. He took a step forward, but Simon just moved- moved- back into view again, now standing on the side of the hill.

"Piggy's not here because he was sure you wouldn't waste your life over what happened to us. I stayed because I was afraid you would." Simon's sky blue eyes peered at Ralph in the dark. "Which one of us was right, Ralph?"

Ralph looked at Simon; he just didn't know what to say. Being in charge meant you were responsible; deaths under your command were your failure and no one else's. For so many sleepless nights he'd wished for the strength to just sling his uniform belt over the heating pipe in his room and put an end to the nightmares; he was tired of being the only good soldier left in a school that was supposed to produce them. But Simon had to be here for a reason.

"What do you _want_ me to do?" Ralph was all but begging Simon, all but fallen to tears. He'd just had enough. How much more was he supposed to take?

Moonlight shone down on the hill as the wind blew above, and the trees shifted; Simon was barely more than wisps of smoke now, wisps of smoke shaped like a dead boy kept alive by tortured memories. Simon's last words barely reached Ralph's ears:

"Never give up."

Then a breeze blew up the hill, and Simon was gone- if he'd ever been there in the first place.

_Never give up…_

Ralph wanted to scream. What the hell were dead kids relying on _him_ for? Why hadn't those Marines just waited another ten minutes and let Jack kill him on that damned island?

Finally he could wait no longer. Ralph quietly started making his way up the hill.

The house was dark, just as Ralph expected; Jack wouldn't want any lights on for prying eyes, especially not tonight. Walking across the unkempt stretch of lawn, littered with bricks and glass bottles the Foxhounds had cheerfully broken after emptying them, Ralph stopped at the back door. He knew who and what was probably waiting for him inside; he also knew, now at least, that Simon and Piggy would have expected better of him than to just walk into it. He was going to find his way out of this. There just had to be a way.

But while Ralph had already resolved to at least go out fighting, he'd forgotten how Roger was not only brutal, but silent. The solid mahogany leg of a chair crashed down on Ralph's head and killed the lights. Roger stood above the unconscious battalion exec, sneering in the dark; this part had been Jack's idea. Roger had wanted to use a knife to the neck instead of a chair to the head. As he dragged Ralph inside and up the stairs to the attic, Roger reminded himself to have a talk with Jack sometime. As much as he enjoyed it, Roger was getting real tired of having to do the dirty work. If Jack wanted to stay in charge, he was gonna have to do some himself.

Ralph woke up to the sensation of somebody smacking his face. Sitting up, he found he'd been propped in a corner of the cavernous attic, and the first thing he noticed was Jack's grinning face. Ralph recoiled and sprang up, swaying dizzily on his feet and almost falling over. Jack laughed; this was just too much fun. Turning to someone behind him, Jack said, "Hey, guys- what do you know? He's up!"

Ralph raised his fists and made a clumsy swing at Jack, senses still dulled but a determination to fight returning. "Jack!" a voice called out, and the blonde boy spun on his heel and sucker-punched Ralph in the stomach. Ralph fell to one knee, gasping for air, as Jack laughed, standing above him. "I told you to stay out of my way, Ralph. I _told_ you I was gonna get you if you didn't."

Ralph stared up at the grinning, lean form of Jack Merridew, hating everything he stood for. "You know," he hissed as his breath returned, "you're a real fuckin' coward, Jack."

Jack's face darkened. "And you're a big hero. _Let's_ go!" he grabbed Ralph and forced him to his feet.

It was then that Ralph noticed Andy and Roger standing off to either side of the room; they'd cleared a wide space down the middle amidst all the boxes, trunks and stacks of old books. The space led up to a wide, ornate stained-glass window at the far end of the room.

Suddenly Jack began clapping his hands, a mocking smile on his face. "Very good, Ralph. You've figured it out."

Stall for time, Ralph told himself, thinking furiously. You've got to stall for time.

"Figured what out?" Ralph asked.

"I'm gonna kick your fucking ass, Ralph. That's what. I'm gonna shut you up for good."

Ralph shrugged, suddenly nonchalant. "If you think so."

Jack frowned, puzzled. "What?"

Ralph smiled a little, pointing at Andy and Roger. "Why'd you need those two if you were just gonna do that? Still too chicken-shit to get the hard work done yourself?"

Storm clouds formed over Jack's face; he quietly said, "Okay" and turned around, unzipping his BDU blouse and tossing it aside. He motioned to Ralph. "Go on. I'm done with this fuckin' talking bullshit. Come on, _Colonel_. Let's do this."

Ralph took off his own uniform blouse; he could use the slight improvement in mobility this would bring. Jack was fast, but Ralph was slightly stronger; it was gonna come down to which boy could use that more to his advantage.

A wolf-whistle sounded in the vast, dusty space of the attic; Ralph had done his share of PT and then some since the island; it was one of the only things that seemed to keep his mind off what had happened, if only for a short time. "Look at you, Colonel!" Jack crowed, then advanced with his fists raised. "Come on, Ralph. I'm hungry."

"Me too." Ralph said. Shifting so he took Jack's first fast blow on the shoulder, Ralph lashed out and punched Jack in the face. He grinned when he saw Jack stumble slightly, touching the blood on his lip. Jack smiled after a moment. So this was going to be a challenge; that was good. When Ralph moved forward next, feinting a left hook to Jack's face, Jack grabbed his wrist, ducked, and threw Ralph into a heavy piece of old luggage.

When Ralph was too slow getting up for his tastes, Jack moved in and gave Ralph a good kick in the ribs. And another. "Come on, get up! _Get the fuck up_! Time to go see Miss Piggy-tits!" he taunted. Ralph suddenly slammed an arm into the inside of Jack's knees, though, and Jack cried out as he crashed to the floor. The two quickly rolled up and faced each other, both breathing hard. For just a moment they locked eyes; there was nobody they hated more in the world than each other. Then one punch was thrown, then a kick, and it was on. Jack was still lean rather than bulky in any way; he always preferred hitting hard and fast, ending things quick. Ralph took many painful blows- and landed some too- before realising his best chance at survival was making it an extended engagement.

Ralph shifted over to the defense, drawing Jack out and making him waste his energy. Jack lashed out with a flurry of quick, cutting punches, driving Ralph up against a stack of old wood boxes and slamming his head against it. Snarling furiously, his face twisted with rage, Jack kicked Ralph in the chest with all the strength he had. It was more than enough; Ralph's head whipped back and he saw stars. Then Jack drew back a fist, meaning to land a calculated blow on Ralph's face; dimly Ralph realised Jack meant to break his nose. He ducked as Jack came towards him, but not so fast that Jack missed entirely; instead of hitting Ralph's face, Jack's fist struck the hard bone of his forehead. Pain lanced up Jack's left arm and he swore violently, backing away reflexively. "Shit. Fuck! You fuckin piece of-"

Ralph suddenly launched himself at Jack, crashing into him and forcing Jack backwards towards the window.

It was blazing hot in the attic now; both boys were sweating furiously. Jack struggled fiercely, but Ralph could already sense he was starting to lose the battle; Jack had let his fury get the best of him as he so often did, and now he was starting to wear out. It was hot outside, too; heat lightning flashed in the distance. As one ball flashed not far from the house, Jack's eyes suddenly went wide and he screamed. "What the hell did you _do_, Ralph? _What the hell are you doing_?" Ralph briefly backed away and glanced behind him. Roger and Andy were at the door to the attic, plastered against the wall, their eyes wide and staring just like Jack's. Another ball of heat lightning flashed, and as it lit up the room Ralph saw.

_Simon and Piggy were standing in the middle of the room_.

They vanished with the return of the darkness, though, and Ralph turned back nearly too late. Jack came at Ralph with the fiercest blows he could land; his strength was ebbing, though, and this was no longer enough. Ralph blocked him and slammed Jack backwards again; this time, Jack overcompensated and fell, only the lower half of his legs remaining in the room as he crashed, screaming in panic, through the window.

Lightning flashed again outside, and close by; seconds later thunder rolled, loud and heavy. How very appropriate, Ralph thought. Jack squirmed beneath him in a panic; ironically, his wriggling only landed him in a worse spot than before. Jack stopped struggling and suddenly became very still.

Ralph had a large piece of broken glass in his hand; it was pressed neatly against Jack's throat.

"Well, what're you gonna _do_, huh?" Jack hissed, the high whine of panic barely hidden in his voice. "You gonna kill me? Come on, then- do it! Do it!" Jack was desperately afraid now, but determined not to give in. He couldn't believe how badly he'd fucked this up... but he'd never beg anyone, least of all Ralph, to be shown mercy. And he also knew that he wasn't likely to get it; not here, not now. He'd blown all his chances with Ralph a long time ago. This was it.

But then there was movement in the room behind them; looking over Ralph's shoulder, past his grimace of anger and pain, Jack spotted someone moving. It was Roger… Jack's eyes widened in terror as he noticed something.

Roger held the .44 Shepard revolver in his hand.

"RALPH!" Jack screamed, and at what must have been the last possible moment Ralph turned to see Roger, his face contorted with impatient fury, thumbing back the hammer of the revolver. "Man, fuck this goddamn _bullshit_!" Roger yelled. He was tired of waiting.

Andy ducked out of the room right then and there; he'd had enough. He bolted clean down the hall, downstairs and out the back door. He was done here.

Then Jack, his tired, aching muscles running more on adrenaline than on his own remaining strength, threw Ralph aside and rolled to his feet. Ralph had only begun to withdraw the makeshift dagger of glass when Jack shoved at him; the glass cut his neck badly, but the wound was superficial. It didn't hit the jugular vein, which meant Jack was still in the fight. As Roger took aim at Ralph, who had almost frozen in the dark, Jack shouted a war-cry and charged, darting into the gun's path. He reached Roger just in time to grab the boy's arm and push down- and take the first round in his leg.


	8. Chapter 8- Ending & Beginning

**Chapter VIII- Ending & Beginning**

* * *

The rush of pain was immediate, blinding; Jack had never known anything so excruciating. He collapsed to the attic floor, clutching at his leg. Roger shouted in stunned rage, "I've had it with your crap, Jack! Once I've offed Ralph, _you're_ getting it too!"

It started to rain outside; Jack could barely even hear Roger's voice, let alone comprehend his words. He'd never known such agony. Let Roger do whatever Roger wanted to do; it wasn't like Jack could stop him anyway. A thought occurred to Jack, in spite of everything- had he not been so preoccupied with the pain in his leg, Jack might've laughed. They really hadn't gone so far from the island after all, had they? A year later, back in civilization, and the boys were still killing each other. Not a whole lot had changed.

But the lightning flashed outside, and in the instant the room was lit, and a stormy breeze blew into the attic, Roger and Jack noticed the same thing.

Ralph had disappeared.

Roger's eyes darted around the attic, amongst the countless trunks, suitcases, and pieces of old furniture. Where the hell had Ralph gone? How could anybody so pitiful get up and move that fast? Roger considered firing into the piles of luggage, in the hopes that he'd find Ralph's hiding place.

But there were just so many. Where had he _gone_?

Roger suddenly became aware again of the lean, blonde boy curled up at his feet, tears of pain streaming down his face. Roger kicked Jack hard, and grinned as the boy writhed and screamed. Dropping the boulder on Piggy had been fun, but Jack had taken the credit for it, as always. It was all Roger's show now.

Suddenly, though, there was another scream, this one off to his right. Roger turned, the arm holding the .44 following his gaze, just in time to see Ralph come flying out of the dark. Roger snapped a shot off too late; the gunshot exploded in the attic, but it buried itself in a far corner of the ceiling. Both boys, nearly deaf from the shot, fell to the floor, their ears ringing. Ralph attempted to wrestle the gun from Roger's grip; struggling frantically, Roger would not let go. The barrel pointed at one boy, then the other. Already at the end of his rope from fighting Jack, Ralph knew he'd lose if he wasted even a moment in fighting Roger. He had nothing left; his muscles screamed out for mercy and Roger's, he knew, were just getting started. Suddenly Ralph realised what he had to do; the only choice left for him to make. He grabbed Roger's hands as they settled solidly around the revolver's trigger-

-and stuck the barrel under Roger's chin.

The gun went off for a third time, this time taking a good section of Roger's head with it. The savage boy jerked twice, then was still.

Ralph breathed hard in the sudden, deafening silence of the attic; he could hardly believe what he'd just done. He'd _killed_ somebody. That wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't like that. Not _Ralph_.

Then someone flopped over, uttering a low sob of pain at the effort, and began dragging themselves across the hardwood floor towards him. There was no mistaking those blue eyes, that silvery-blonde hair, or that pale, sweaty face. Ralph struggled to his feet. "Jack!" he said, rushing over. "Jack!"

"_What_, dumbass?"

Ralph shook his head; Jack was still Jack, all right. He got one of Jack's arms around his shoulders and, shakily, the blonde attempted to stand. He tried placing too much weight on his left leg, though, and nearly blacked out. Ralph could feel his muscles straining as he held both of them up. "Come on, we gotta _go_!" Ralph said, and finally Jack nodded. "Let's go. Let's _go_." The two took nearly ten minutes to make it downstairs and out the back door.

Ralph helped Jack hobble out the back door of the house; there was one hell of a mess waiting inside for somebody. Someone was gonna have to explain that. But as Ralph looked out towards the woods and wondered how he'd ever get the crippled boy back to the school in the dark, he saw two shapes at the edge of the woods, watching him.

"Who's that?" Ralph shouted. "Show yourself!"

A pair of identical voices answered him.

"You shouldn't be up here, Ralph."

"There's a real bad storm coming."

"We're _real_ tired."

Sam and Eric.

Ralph stared at them in shock as the twins emerged from the woods and came towards him. "We ran into Andy…" Eric said, and Sam added, "He said Roger went _real_ crazy."

Ralph nodded, not knowing what else to say. "Yeah, he did."

"It was probably an accident."

Ralph looked sharply at the twins; the two of them looked back at him, pointed looks on their faces. Each of them seemed to be saying, _see what I mean_?

Ralph wondered just how much the twins had heard and noticed outside, and how long they'd been there. Finally he said, "Jack's hurt bad. We gotta get him back to the school."

"We brought some stuff."

Eric, wearing his Davidson-issue backpack, tossed it off his back and took out two rolls of gauze. Again, Ralph stared in amazement. Where had they _gotten_ that?

Bandaged up as best they could do it, Jack sat on the back lawn, cursing quietly as raindrops started to fall in his head; Sam and Eric went inside and came back out with two BDU blouses, handing them to Ralph and Jack. Putting his on, Ralph got to his feet again and helped Jack stand.

It was about twenty minutes' time before Jack spoke. "So what are we gonna tell everybody?

Ralph honestly didn't know, and told Jack that.

"Maybe Roger shot himself, and maybe you and me tried to stop him 'cause we knew where that house was."

Ralph nodded, slowly warming to the idea as they continued walking through the woods. As the school came into view, its lights shining brightly into the dark, Ralph said, "I think you tried to stop him more than me."

Jack looked at Ralph, smiling a little. "So _I_ get to be the hero, huh?"

Ralph shrugged, smiling too. "If you want."

They stopped at the edge of the woods; Sam and Eric waited patiently for Ralph to keep moving. Jack sat down, though, insisting they make sure all four knew what the plan was before they headed up to the school. They were all going to have to tell the same story this time.

Before they went, though, Ralph looked at Jack, who was busy holding his leg and cursing in the dark, and asked him a question. "Why didn't you let Roger kill me?"

"My fight, my rules. Only _I_ get to kill you." Jack smirked a little, then grimaced as another wave of pain hit him.

"Is that _really_ why?"

Jack motioned for Ralph to help him stand, and slowly they started making their way onto the soccer field. Finally Jack said, "No, there's more. But ask me later."


	9. Chapter 9- Aftermath

**Chapter IX- Aftermath**

* * *

Roger, wracked with guilt over Piggy and Simon, had killed himself in the house in the woods two weeks ago. This much was understood. His parents were told what they needed to know; standing nearby as they arrived to see Colonel Anderson, Ralph wondered if he should say anything. But the truth would have been more painful for them to take then the story Colonel Anderson had been told. Ultimately, Ralph let them go without saying anything. It was better that they think this had happened than know what the truth really was. Sometimes the truth really wasn't such a good thing.

Jack had limped up to the infirmary with Ralph only just in time; as it was, he nearly died in the ICU anyway. Somewhere in the attic, the house, or the long walk back to school he'd acquired a nearly fatal infection. One day, unable to keep his mind on his classes and off Jack's struggle for life at the Rockbridge County Hospital, Ralph asked to be driven there, a request Colonel Anderson personally granted. He still didn't know everything of what his boys had been up to, and part of him was beginning to accept that he probably never would. But Ralph looked calmer now, in spite of all that had happened. The other boys who'd been on the island were feeling something similar. Perhaps it was coincidence that the accounts of Simon and Piggy's deaths were finally matching up, and that their remains, the police investigation ended, had finally been laid to rest. But John Anderson had never believed too much in coincidences.

As he watched Ralph get in the DMS van and ride off to the county hospital, Anderson smiled a little, reminding himself to put his chips in for Ralph Meyer's name on the list of candidates for the Davidson Sabre at the end of this year. He didn't know what that boy's role had been in all of this; not truly. But that didn't mean he couldn't take a leap of faith and award him for it. Colonel John Anderson was coming to admire even the Merridew boy greatly; if he just got himself straightened out after this, he'd be all right. They had tremendous potential, the both of them. Anderson hoped they'd both take the oath of service themselves one day; the armed forces would never have enough men like them.

At the hospital, Ralph made his way to Room 12 in the ICU in silence. Jack's condition had stabilized enough that the doctors were letting a few select friends from the school in along with immediate family, but no one else was in the room at the time Ralph arrived. He sat down and looked at Jack for a while; while the heartbeat monitor beeped with assuring regularity, Jack's normally-pale face was a bit more so than usual. Sitting in the silent room, Ralph stared at Jack, still not comprehending why- or how- either one of them was still alive. Again, into the room's quiet, he asked, "Why? Why'd you do that?" Ralph wanted to add, _Why'd you nearly get yourself killed for your worst enemy?_ But he couldn't seem to find the words. Finally, after sitting for some time but never once looking at the clock, he got up and left.

Jack, sleepy and only half-convinced Ralph had actually been there, replied a moment too late for Ralph to hear him.

"Ask me later."


	10. Chapter 10- Years Later

**Chapter X- Years Later**

* * *

**A/N: I ended up getting the idea for this chapter before I wrote the other three that provided the link to it. I pictured Jack potentially going the way that he does in this story, but I could never see him giving up his habit of breaking the rules. That would probably stay with him no matter what he did.**

For two more years at Davidson Military School and through four years at the Carolina Military Institute that was always Jack Merridew's response. Ask me later. Ralph never quite gave up asking the question, but he did somewhat give up on ever expecting to get an answer. He and Jack were permanently linked by all that had happened on the island and since, with the two of them playing a prominent role. They'd made all the decisions, and the events of the island that they started together, they also ended together.

The intensely close friendship Jack and Ralph had come to know didn't happen overnight; Ralph scoffed at the very idea. They had three dead boys between them, and no easy way of dealing with any of it. Even had they been on good terms all through the island's events and aftermath, it would still have been a wonder had Jack and Ralph remained on speaking terms at all. Some things just made knowing a person at all awkward, uncomfortable… or, over time, could make it impossible to part with that person. Ralph knew Jack had never forgiven himself for helping Ralph kill Roger, who up till then had been his best friend. It took years for Jack to get over his expulsion from the Foxhounds; Old Top, the senior cadet in the shadowy club, had decreed that Jack should be left alone… but also that he be excommunicated, forever gone from their ranks for helping an outsider kill one of the brotherhood's own. Jack had loved being a Foxhound; loved the secrecy, the elite status and influence- and a true sense of belonging. Being kicked out like that had hurt Jack very badly.

So how, some would surely ask Ralph, did such a close friendship come to pass? Ralph knew the answer to such a question, and it was neither simple nor complicated, but both of those things at once. It had seen its beginnings when Ralph and Jack graduated from Davidson with the Class of 1992. But when they'd entered the Carolina Military Institute, walked through the Durrell Gates of the most prestigious military college in the American South in a broiling, humid August that same year… that, Ralph knew, was when things had really changed. That had been the beginning of his and Jack's friendship.

The Fourth-Class System was known throughout the South, and to a lesser extent the United States, for its fierce, unforgiving brutality. It was legendary for the savagery with which its enforcers, the demonic beings that were the junior and senior classes, tore into the ranks of bald-headed, terrified boys now known only as worthless "knobs". Against that, Jack and Ralph had quickly realized that only by fighting together did they have even a prayer of surviving. Against the merciless attacks of the upperclassmen, even Jack had come close to quitting. But one night, so sore from the endless running and hitting the deck for pushups he was literally moaning in pain, Ralph had turned over in his rack and seen Jack entering the room. Once again breaking the regs, he was out of his room after taps. Out of his room, and from the wide-eyed look on his face, out of his mind. But Jack had crept over to Ralph, and in one instant of locking eyes with him, Ralph knew Jack was suffering the same pain, having the same doubts. All of them were. Some of them would even listen, and though they would rarely be spoken of by the boys who did make it, the ones who washed out of the Institute's brutal plebe system were never blamed or hated by their classmates. At that moment, on that dark and brutally hot night, Ralph had wanted very much to be one of those boys himself. Out of this hellish prison of a college, back home in a real bed… and free. Yes, Ralph had wanted that very much.

But then Jack had crawled up to the side of Ralph's rack, his blonde hair which he'd prized so highly just starting to grow back. He was barely recognizable in the moonlight; like all the other boys who had been sentenced, seemingly by a merciless God Himself, to a year's existence as pitiful knobs, Jack's eyes held a constant terror. The look of a boy suddenly turned into prey. But some of those eyes in some of those terrified boys held courage. Already some of them were resolving that they could not, would not, ever be run out of the Institute. Some of them had already made an incredibly courageous decision. And Ralph knew Jack had made that decision that night in their second week as knobs. Jack looked at Ralph in the dark, and quietly said, "I'm gonna stay. I'm gonna stay, Ralph."

Ralph had stared at Jack in the dark, absolutely floored. He had no idea what to say. But his mouth seemed to have deserted his brain, and while Ralph's mind was struggling for a reply, his mouth went ahead and gave one: "Me, too."

Then, sobbing helplessly, Jack had hugged Ralph fiercely, burying his face in Ralph's shoulder. Jack had vanished into the dark again after a minute or two, and into the once-again-complete silence Ralph's roommate quietly said, "Well, I guess we all gotta stay, now. I'd feel like shit if I quit now."

And not one of those three boys had. Jack, Ralph, and Ralph's roommate Kevin Westfall, had all stayed. Jack and Ralph became leaders in their class simply by that one act of incredible courage; they resolved to stay no matter what, and then Kevin Westfall chose the same, and so did dozens of others in the weeks and months to come. Ralph always attributed the true beginning of his friendship with Jack to that night in his room on fourth division, on the highest floor of T Company's barracks in Fourth Battalion. When Jack had spoken those words, when Jack had simply refused to leave and Ralph had sworn to do the same with him, that had been the moment when they'd truly become friends. That, Ralph knew, was the day their old enmity died for good, and a damn good friendship began in its place. That was when it had been for real.

Jack almost never spoke about what happened on the island; Ralph was content to leave it in the past as well, where it belonged. Jack did make the occasional comment, though, that would leave Ralph wondering just how he'd changed his thoughts about the island over the years. He'd never say much, and would become mysteriously deaf if ever pressed on the subject. But once in a long while, Jack would say something like, "Piggy was pretty smart, huh?" or "Simon was all right. Yeah. He sure was."

Then there was graduation day at the Institute. Ralph was amazed that both of them had made it this far when Jack, grinning from ear to ear, was commissioned a Second Lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps. Ralph had won a large sum of money over the fact that Jack hadn't gotten kicked out; to say the least it had amazed a few people.

It wasn't that Jack hadn't done well at the Institute; he ended up being one of the sharpest cadets in his class in military, academic, and leadership accomplishments, even as a knob. But while the Institute may have succeeded in making a better, more disciplined young man out of Jack, it could not quell the daring and rebellious spirit that lived deep within him. Jack's ability as a rising leader in the Corps was only surpassed by his audacity during weekend and holiday passes. Enough angry bar owners, lovelorn girls and enraged fathers followed Jack Merridew around throughout his college career- quite inexplicably according to a wide-eyed, innocent Jack- that his remaining in the Corps at all through to graduation in June 1996 was as much a surprise to Jack as anybody. After enough time, Ralph learned not to fight too hard against the way Jack did things. He loved living on the high wire, and even the Institute was powerless to drive that out of him. Even the best efforts of the finest college in the Low Country could do nothing against the strains of rebel that, it seemed, ran right down to Jack's DNA. Besides, Ralph did come to like Jack's style after a time. Nothing was better than a good party after a year of being stuck on campus almost every weekend, and Jack knew how to party better than anyone at the Institute.

Yes, Ralph remembered thinking as he stood in line to receive his diploma from the General, it was quite an accomplishment that Jack had managed not to get kicked out… word was that the Commandant's Office had a bigger file on Jack Merridew than any other cadet in the history of the Institute. An exaggeration? Not by much; not in Ralph's book. But Jack was immensely popular with the upperclassmen by his senior year, and word _also_ had it that if Jack _had_ been kicked out, there would have been a mass uprising in the Corps to restore Jack's status as a cadet. Regardless, Ralph and Jack _were_ both there on the parade ground that day, and both proudly saluted General Kriegman and received their diplomas before each of their watching families. It was a wonder for both of them that this day had ever come.

"Come on, asshole, I want you to see my parents," Jack said, sprinting up to Ralph and steering him off from talking to their portly- but much admired- English professor. Stumbling over his own feet trying to keep up- Jack had only gotten faster and stronger as he trained to become a Marine lieutenant- Ralph spotted the distinguished-looking man in an obscenely-expensive business suit, the slender, sandy-blonde-haired woman in an equally expensive dress… and a young boy who he recalled was Jack's little brother. When the two caught sight of each other, Ralph knew his memory was right- the boy broke into a grin and ran towards Jack, who knelt and met him in a close, tight hug, his sword brushing the grass.

Ralph looked at Jack as 4th battalion's now-former commander picked up his brother, and tried asking the question one more time. "Why, Jack?" he whispered it in his friend's ear. Whispering back, his eyes more than moist from how happy he was, Jack had said yet again, "Ask me later."

Ralph did not commission alongside his classmates; he instead went off to medical school that fall. The elder Merridew insisted on paying a quarter of his tuition there, saying he had no idea what Ralph had hit his boy over the head with, but he was damn glad he did it. And he wanted to know who was selling the objects, whatever they were.

It was one of the happiest days of Ralph's life when he and Jack left the Institute together, known from the lowest freshman to the highest-ranking senior as two of the closest, most fiercely-bonded friends ever to attend Charleston's military college. It was a day he'd never forget.

Equally unforgettable was the day North and South Korea went to war in 2010, for what turned out to be the most violent but also final time. Inevitably more nations than just the United States had gotten dragged into it, and inevitably few young men on either side had wanted to sit out the fight.

Jack and countless others had been there on day one or soon after, already trained men fighting on the front lines. For Jack, the war was the ultimate challenge, and he loved every minute of it. He flew close air support missions, one after another, each after a takeoff run from the _USS Abraham Lincoln_, the carrier that took more abuse from the enemy than any other ship in the Sea of Japan.

Ralph was different; he went all the same, but as just another ordinary man who'd given up his ordinary job to fight in the war. While Jack soared high- and swooped low- above the enemy, no doubt delighting in making North Korean soldiers fall in terror before him, Ralph worked at a field hospital, keeping alive the boys and men Allied bombs and bullets couldn't keep safe. For whatever reason, fighting to _save_ lives felt much more natural to Ralph than fighting to take them did. A bitter thought occurred to him as well, whenever Ralph reflected on his service in the war; to the best of his knowledge, he'd never killed anyone besides Roger… but that had been far more than enough. Perhaps determined to make up for the one life that he took, Ralph instead resolved to preserve as many as possible, even treating wounded POW's from time to time. His courage as a medic sometimes went over the line to being outright reckless; there was nothing Ralph wouldn't do if it meant getting another wounded man back to the surgeons. Sometimes he wondered if knowing Jack hadn't made him a more daring person than he otherwise would've been. It had certainly made him more careless when ideals- and people- that mattered to him were in danger.

Then there was was the last and most unforgettable day of all, out of all the years they'd known each other. Ralph knew he'd never forget the day Major Jack Merridew's Super Hornet went down over North Korea. One battalion of the 1st Marines had been trapped by two Korean People's Army armored brigades during the drive on Pyongyang; Allied command had denied air support from going in because enemy SAM coverage was too heavy. It was actually very true; North Korea's air defenses were infamous for being the heaviest and most unforgiving in the world, and the war had only made the reality of that brutally clear to Allied commanders. But Allied command and North Korea's air defenses had never met Jack Merridew. Ralph smiled ironically as a pilot from Jack's squadron told him the news; telling Jack he couldn't do something was the best possible way to make sure he absolutely, positively, found a way to do it.

Ralph was not surprised at what Jack did, or that the Allied Nations ultimately did win the war. He _was_ surprised at how many people showed up when the Marine Corps honour guard prepared to say farewell to Major Jack Merridew at Arlington. It said a lot about how different Jack had become.

Among those present were dozens of men who'd been on the ground with the 1st Marines, fighting one of the most desperate battles of the Second Korean War. Then that lone F-18 had roared overhead, followed closely by a handful of others. Every pilot who'd followed Jack in had faced a court-martial; the fact that his squadron commander was among them- albeit spitting and swearing the whole way- was one of their best saving graces. And Ralph spoke with a handful of pilots who'd been there; to a man, they'd _all_ said they'd do it again, court-martial or no.

The lead Super Hornet had been too low for its crew to eject if hit- and hit they were, but not before blowing a bridge and costing the KPA a whole column of tanks. The men present- pilots and grunts- talked of that pilot as a "brave, beautiful motherfucker" and inwardly, Ralph had to suppress a smile…. Jack would have loved this. All the glory, all the attention- and knowing he'd given the guys he hated one good, solid punch rather than letting someone up high tell him he couldn't. Jack would've loved every bit of it.

As for Ralph… he was just thankful the bad dreams had stopped. He didn't know what had become of Piggy or Simon, but he knew they'd faded away, at peace. Ralph was glad for that.

And strangely, he felt at peace with the way Jack had gone, too. After twenty years of knowing Jack Merridew, Ralph was sure he wouldn't have wanted to go any other way. He had probably gone out with a grin on his face; and Ralph was certain he'd had no regrets. That let Ralph rest easy, too.

A young Air Force first lieutenant approached Ralph after the ceremony; he saluted sharply, and briefly Ralph was confused; he'd been so faraway with his thoughts he'd forgotten he was a Lieutenant Colonel of the Army Medical Corps; just discharged, but in uniform nonetheless. He'd also forgotten about the rows of medals hanging from his chest. It was one thing that had always made him different from the tall, blonde boy he'd gone to school with; Jack never forgot a single thing that brought him glory.

The lieutenant smiled a little after Ralph returned the salute; with his uniform on and the Air Force blue officer's cap hiding most of his hair, Ralph forgot who he was. The junior officer didn't seem to have any trouble recognizing him, however. Then Ralph read the brushed silver nametag, and noticed the Air Force Cross and silver pilot's wings on the left breast of his uniform. It figured.

"Hey, uh, sir," the lieutenant said, offering his hand. "You must be Ralph."

"That's right", Ralph said, shaking his hand. "You must be Michael."

The lieutenant gave a different smile then, one that Ralph was very familiar with; it was that same flashy, show-stopper's smile that Jack had always been so good at doing. Michael Merridew hadn't quite inherited his brother's bone-deep rebelliousness, but they looked almost exactly alike. And when Ralph saw the younger of the two brothers smile like that, he felt a little sorry for Michael Merridew's squadron commander. Maybe he more than just _looked_ like Jack.

The two talked for a time, and for a young man who had just buried his brother, Ralph found Michael to be a surprisingly cheerful young man. Keeping his college-acquired instinct of checking a man's right hand for a CMI ring, Ralph had not been surprised to find one when they'd shaken hands. It was only natural somebody like Michael Merridew would want to go to a prestigious school like CMI, just as his brother had done. Jack and Michael had been close throughout both their childhoods, and that had closeness had clearly endured beyond their early years. Jack had gone to the Institute, so Michael went to the Institute. Jack became a fighter pilot, so Michael did just the same.

Even now, it was clear how much the younger Merridew still adored big brother and wanted to be like him. Save for one difference; Michael had inherited a little more of his parents' good sense, enough to know that glory was fleeting and _surviving_ a war was better in the end. But Michael had no delusions about what his big brother would have said, had he heard that: to Jack Merridew, _Sic Transit Gloria Mundi_ was meaningless Latin gibberish, and all great glory was forever.

The younger Merridew said nothing of his own exploits in the war, never mentioned the fact that he'd taken on nine KPAF MiG-29's in a single F-22. And won. Overall, the two avoided talk of the war- and of Jack's death in it- as much as possible. They talked about how they'd both known him over so many years, smiling at the many memories both of them had. It was something that Ralph would come to realise about military funerals in particular; it was about celebrating the man's life, rather than simply mourning his death. And more than one life was being lived still because Jack had volunteered to turn his in early. Ralph would think about that often, too.

The younger Merridew brother told Ralph how much Jack had always talked about him- "I don't think he ever liked and hated somebody so much at the same time", Michael had said with a smile and a shake of the head- and mentioned Jack's actions only briefly. His eyes shone with more than pride as he talked of the medals Jack had won, and how Allied troops on the ground loved the renegade squadron exec as much as the North Koreans hated him. Finally Michael could not go on. He gave up, staring at the ground to hide his eyes.

Ralph found himself strangely unable to speak, too. For a time, both men looked at each other, then shook hands, exchanged information, and promised to visit one another someday. Ralph headed off to his own car after a while, to waiting children and a wife. They stood beside the car, watching quietly from a distance after the ceremony; they weren't about to leave until Ralph was ready. Finally, he got in though, and after blinking furiously for a time started the car and drove away.

Michael Merridew watched Ralph's car go; people gradually drifted away, finding other places to go and other things to do. Michael was grateful. He was already getting tired of shaking hands with so many people who wanted to thank him for something his brother did; and then when they noticed his Air Force Cross, people started wanting to thank Michael too. He would stay in the Air Force for a long time to come, though he would sometimes 'forget' to wear the medal. That was one thing that did make Michael Merridew noticeably different from his brother; he hated the attention his actions' had brought him, while Jack had reveled in it. It made him smile a little, in spite of the terrible sadness he felt. That was just like Jack. There wasn't enough glory in the world for somebody like him.

Standing there on a warm June day in Arlington, Michael knelt beside the white headstone, freshly engraved. He set a hand on it and knelt there for a time, unable to speak. Then he got up and walked away without a word.

Behind him, on the white headstone, part of the engraving read:

JACK N. MERRIDEW

MAJOR, USMC

SECOND KOREAN WAR

MEDAL OF HONOR

Two weeks later, a box arrived at Ralph's house in Maryland. The return address was for Michael Merridew's house at Tyndall Air Force Base in Florida; already famous in the fighter community for his own exploits in the Second Korean War, as well as those of his brother, Michael Merridew had just finished transferring to the 325th Fighter Wing. Not even twenty-five years old, the task would soon fall to him to begin training the boys who'd missed out on the recent war how to live through the next one. Standing next to the pile of mail on the kitchen table, Ralph frowned. Why would Michael have needed a box this big just to send a letter? Finally, curiosity spurred him into action; Ralph got a letter opener and cut the tape holding the box shut. Then he opened its cardboard flaps, and Ralph's breath went out in a rush. "Son on of a…" Ralph noticed one of his young sons standing nearby, and added, "Birch". A good save, but his mind was miles off already.

Suddenly, Ralph wasn't in his kitchen anymore. His eyes took on a distant look indeed, because in his mind, Ralph was watching someone walk the island again, this time alone. Images flashed before him, and as he saw each Ralph was sure that was just how they had really been. Ralph saw Jack touring the island; the cove, the beaches, the two caves and the signal fire's old site, at the top of the grassy hill. Looking, thinking, having sights, sounds and smells come flooding back, both good and bad. Ralph saw Jack standing there on the hilltop, feeling it all come back again. And his regret, coming like pain.

Standing there in the kitchen of a house he'd bought five years ago, Ralph marveled at the effort this must have taken on Jack's part. Hiring a seaplane or boat, locating the island again by little other than memory and some old newspaper clippings… and searching the island one more time, alone with nothing but a lot of painful memories. Ralph could scarcely believe Jack had found the courage to face all that again in the first place, let alone so vividly. He thought again of Piggy, and Simon, and Roger. And Jack, who in finding this one simple thing had showed, without ever speaking a word, how deeply moved he was by everything he'd seen and done on the island. And all he'd seen and done since.

A small smile crept onto Ralph's face. His wife had joined him and two of his kids in the kitchen now, and they all looked at him curiously. But for the moment, Ralph hardly noticed. He just couldn't believe it.

"What is it, Dad? What did Mr. Merridew send?" That brought Ralph back, the question by his youngest son, five-year-old Kevin. Briefly Ralph reflected on the use of the title; Kevin would not know for many years yet that another, older Merridew had existed in Ralph's life. And for someone like Jack, "existed" was too small a word. No word seemed to fit; even in death Jack defied all labels and categorization. But now it was Ralph who couldn't find a word to say; his mouth worked silently several times before something came out.

Ralph said, "Jack sent me something," and lifted the item out of the box. His children oohed and ahhed, captivated by its colourful brilliance despite years of abuse by the merciless sea- or somehow, perhaps, because of it. Ralph's wife, more aware of the object's importance, gasped quietly and touched a hand to her mouth, her eyes moistening with tears.

Ralph, for his part, just grinned. It was unbelievable, it was impossible- but then, that was Jack. He'd probably had a laugh as he took the item away from the island; Jack, somehow, had probably known Ralph would never expect him to find it.

It was the conch.

The conch from the island in the Pacific, from where the water was the same blue as the sky, where the tall grass still swayed in the wind at the top of the grassy hill, and only the songs of a few birds would ever again disturb the peace.


End file.
